In apathy, bereft of hope,
Still doomed with poverty to cope;
To stagnate in its festering pool,
The scorn and butt of every fool;
Till every trace of manhood fade,
And rust the heart and soul invade;
Through which disease and swift decay,
Like vultures, on their vitals prey!
Nor dare you hint, that as I write,
While some three hundred wield the might,